


Home For Christmas

by VanaTuivana



Category: Generation X (Comic), Wolverine and the X-Men (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Alternate Future, Angelo/Jono if you squint, Best Friends, Canonical Character Death, Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Growing Up Together, Timeline What Timeline, Vignettes, loners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 02:23:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2834684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VanaTuivana/pseuds/VanaTuivana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jono was never a Christmas person; he always ended up celebrating with Angelo anyway, one way or another. </p>
<p>Five ghosts of Gen X Christmases past, plus one ghost of Christmas never to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Llwyden ferch Gyfrinach (Llwyden)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llwyden/gifts).



> Plays fast and loose with the Gen X timeline, based on a rather meta, wink-nod comment made by Paige near the end of the run: "I mean, we've been here for years, but are we any closer to graduating? Is there even a graduation?" Makes use of various bits of X-Men canon, ignores other bits, invents some chronology wholesale -- you know, as you do when trying to make sense of comics continuity. ;)

I.

Christmas week in Massachusetts was like a magazine photospread exploded inside the Academy. There was cold and snow and Artie and Leech and Jubilee running around outside throwing snowballs at everything that moved and coming in with bright red noses, tracking water all over the floors. There were evergreens with lights on, wreaths with floppy red bows, and M placidly floating into every corner to hang bits of holly and what looked suspiciously like mistletoe under Miss Frost’s direction. There were candy canes hanging on every available surface, bits of wrapping paper and tinsel flying in every direction, and Paige and Everett taking over the kitchen for the second day running to bake a truly indefensible number of gingerbread men. Somebody had even put a gold bow on top of Penny’s head and somehow managed not to get sliced to ribbons for their troubles.

Jono had fled to the sanctity of the basement early on. With no school and no training there wasn’t much reason for him to leave his room for days on end, and he was curled up on the floor, absorbed in the latest _Sandman_ volume Cassidy had brought back from town for him, when he heard the slam of the door above and the familiar thumps of Angelo taking the stairs two at a time. _Knock first, tosser_ , he sent out of habit, barely glancing up.

Ange knuckled the top of Jono’s head. “Got to keep you on your toes, amigo. It’s part of your training. Gotta be ready for disaster to strike at any second. Cassidy’s orders.” He sprawled out on Jono’s bed without asking, one narrow grey foot dangling down to prod absently at Jono’s shoulder. “Whatcha doin’?”

_Painting the bleedin’ Mona Lisa_. Jono pointedly flicked a page.

“Huh.” He could feel Angelo’s grin without looking at him -- it was a telepath thing, maybe. “That’s one weird-ass looking lady. Her tits ain’t bad, though.”

_You wouldn’t know good tits if they slapped you in the face, mate._

He was still grinning. “Man, I’d be willing to test out that theory. For science.” He kicked Jono again, gently. “Hey. You know it’s Christmas, right?”

Jono hunched further over his book. _Really?_ he drawled with as much sarcasm as he could fit into one word.

The mental static burn he put off as a warning when he was annoyed was enough to chase off the others, sometimes, but not Angelo. “You coming up to see the tree?”

_Bugger off_.

“Grinch.” Ange swung his arms up behind his head and let his skin go a little loose with a sigh. It cost him in headaches, holding all that skin tight, but there weren’t too many places he was willing to relax. Jono guessed he was flattered that his basement was one of them. “You deserve coal, my friend, but lucky for you Santa Angelo made sure you got something nice in your stocking.”

Jono did glance up at that, a little abashed. He hadn’t even thought about presents for anyone else, much less the chance of getting anything from the rest. _We have stockings?_ he said finally.

“Paige made ‘em. She was just gonna do the kids, but Jubes argued her into one for everybody. Miss Frost’s is _bright pink_ ,” he pronounced with supreme satisfaction.

_Yeah?_

Angelo nudged him with his foot again. “And yours has sparkles on it.”

Jono scoffed, blackly amused. _Bollocks it does._

“You’ll never know unless you come up and see.”

That wasn’t going to happen and they both knew it, and Angelo didn’t seem in a hurry to go upstairs again either.

He woke the next morning to find a green stocking taped to his door. No glitter, but there was crisply folded money from Miss Frost, a friendship bracelet from Jubilee, a set of guitar strings from Ev, a card from Paige. Scrunched into the toe he found a black beanie with a PUNK’S NOT DEAD (BUT IT SURE STINKS) patch stuck across the front. Jono snorted and pitched it into a corner.

 

II.

“Are you _sure_ , lads?” Mr. Cassidy asked for the hundredth time, with his hand on the doorknob and everything. Angelo gave him his most virtuous look.

“Miss Frost and the girls’ll be back from Monaco in a couple days. We can keep everything in one piece till then, man,” he assured him, and looked to Jono for support.

Jono mustered a disinterested thumbs-up.

Mr. Cassidy lifted his eyebrows, but turned the doorknob anyway. “Well then. Happy Christmas, the two of you. Don’t burn the place down, eh?”

In retrospect, that last remark was probably what tempted fate: there was a _small_ fire, but Angelo doused it with a bottle Mr. Cassidy probably didn’t know he had discovered, and with the upstairs smelling smoky and boozy they retired to the basement again to hook up the Sega.

Halfway through the second round of the festive Doom tournament, Angelo slung one rubbery arm around Jono’s shoulders and squeezed. “Feliz Navidad, man.”

Jono twisted his head to peer at Angelo’s watch. _Midnight?_

“On the dot.” He squeezed again before shifting back to his own spot on the couch.

After a few minutes of nothing but computerized music and the roars of dying demons onscreen, Jono ventured, _Want to do something?_

Angelo glanced over at him. “Thought we were doing something.”

_Yeah, but… I dunno, something Christmassy?_

“What, _you_ wanna sing carols and drink eggnog?” Angelo nudged him with his shoulder. “It’s cool, amigo. This is good. You gonna keep killing these pendejos or what?”

 

III.

M had snapped at everyone for days before flying off to be alone, Paige was in Kentucky with her family, Jubes was spending the holidays with the X-Men. Mr. Cassidy was drunk and unshaven, Miss Frost was distracted and cold, and Angelo escaped to the basement before an uncomfortable Christmas dinner by claiming a headache. He’d abducted the bottle of rum that had been destined for the eggnog -- the rate he was going, Mr. Cassidy would never miss it anyway.

He sprawled out on the couch in silence while Jono plucked absently at his guitar. No one was saying much lately. Not since Adrienne Frost. Not since Everett.

“You think if Ev were still around, everything would be okay?”

It wasn’t really possible that Ange had picked up a bit of telepathy through exposure to him, but Jono still considered it for a minute. _Probably_ , he answered at last. _That was sorta his thing, right? Being good at bloody everything._

There was a long pause; Angelo had his eyes closed, but his mouth was drawn up and his skin was tight. He was usually more relaxed when they were alone.

_You miss him?_ Jono asked finally.

Angelo lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Not like M does, or Jubes, or even Mr. Cassidy. But… yeah. He was a good guy -- a friend. He shouldn’t’ve died like that.”

He shook his head wordlessly, and they were quiet for a while. Then Angelo scrambled to his feet and went in search of a glass, and when he came back, he sat cross-legged on the floor and patted the spot next to him. “C’mere.”

Jono eyed him. _What?_

Ange shook his head and filled the glass, only sloshing a little over the side “Just get over here, man.”

When they were settled to Angelo’s satisfaction, they were facing each other, knees almost touching, with the cup of Admiral in between them. “Now we’re gonna drink -- to Ev, to Christmas, and to the rest of us sorry losers. We’re _both_ gonna drink.” He laughed at the look Jono gave him. “C’mon. Close your eyes and get with me.”

_It’s not gonna work_ , Jono objected.

“Not with that attitude, it’s not. Come _on_ , Starsmore.”

He grumbled wordlessly, but closed his eyes and opened his mind to Ange’s as he took the first drink, pressing his consciousness out there in hopes of catching a shadow of the rum’s burn. All he got was the familiar sense of Angelo, dark and spiky and warm.

An hour and half the bottle later, Angelo was drunk and relaxed and laughing, his extra skin hanging loose and forehead resting on Jono’s shoulder, and Jono still hadn’t caught as much as a buzz. “Man, you look pissier than--” He dissolved into laughter, one hand with its long fingers wrapping around Jono’s waist to anchor himself. “Hey, it’s gotta work sometime. Keep trying?”

_No bleedin’ chance. You’re gonna pass out if you keep on like that, and I’m not hauling your drunk arse upstairs to bed._ Jono didn’t move, though. He leaned his bandaged cheek against Angelo’s messy hair. _Oi -- Ange?_

“Mm?”

Jono concentrated on the way the extra skin pooling on the end of Angelo’s fingers felt, stroking absently against his waist. _Happy Christmas, mate._

Angelo smiled up at him, drunkenly fond, which was a truly weird expression with the way half his face was hanging lax. “You too, ‘mano.”

 

IV.

Jubilee was a yellow-and-pink bundle of energy, same as ever, and the minute the taxi pulled up in front of the X-Mansion she’d half-strangled Jono with a hug and then torn off to find Bobby and Hank and the others. Angelo unfolded himself from the backseat more slowly, grinning up at Jono all the while.

“Look at the big bad X-Man on bellhop duty. You gonna take my bags or what, man?”

Jono rolled his eyes and opened his arms. _Get over here, tosser._

Ange didn’t hug like anybody else; he wrapped his arms around and _around_ , enfolding Jono in slightly-cool, rubbery skin, and squeezed, and didn’t let go. “Hey,” he said into Jono’s ear.

_Hey_. Jono thumped him on the back, which was the most he could move with Angelo wrapped around him. _You don’t look very tan for somebody that’s spent half a year on the beach. I’m disappointed with you, mate_.

“You know me, man, I only burn.” He let Jono go after another moment, though he kept one hand on his shoulder while he hoisted his and Jubes’ luggage in the other. “Híjola, it’s freezing here. Thought there’d be more snow.”

_There would be, only Storm’s not back from Africa yet. Reckon we’ll wake up in the morning to a white Christmas and all that soppy bollocks. C’mon, then, let’s get you inside_. Jono led the way, listening with half an ear to Angelo complaining good-naturedly about the flight, the crowds, the taxi driver’s taste in music. Most of his mind was occupied with the _rightness_ of having Ange next to him again.

He took Angelo the long way ‘round, figuring they didn’t need the kids, or the other X-Men, gawking and interrupting and getting in the way. They especially didn’t need to go through the front hall -- that way lay a non-zero chance of having to see Cyclops and Emma making out under the mistletoe, and Jono’d had enough mental scarring already this holiday season.

“Man, they still make you live in the basement?” Angelo laughed at him as Jono pushed his door open and ushered his friend inside. “You sure you’re really an X-Man?”

_They taught me the secret handshake and everything_ , Jono answered dryly. _I like the basement, that’s all._

Angelo dumped his bags on the floor and wandered around, inspecting the place. It was about the same as Jono’s room had been at the Academy, records in milk crates strewn across the floor and old posters stuck haphazardly on the walls. Emma tsked every time she got a glimpse inside and made dire predictions about him remaining a moody teenager for the rest of his godforsaken life, but it helped the place feel like home, especially with Angelo plopping down on his lone chair like it was his rightful place.

“So,” he said, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back. “Looks like Jubes is gonna be stuck to Iceman for a while. Is Paige coming up this year?”

Jono kicked off his boots and sank cross-legged onto his bed. _Nah. She’s in Kentucky._ He glanced away, as nonchalant as he could be. _With Angel._

“Oh.” Angelo grimaced. “Sucks, man.” There was a moment of unspoken awkwardness before he shook his head and continued, “How about M?”

_Paris, last I heard. Doing something with X-Corp._

“Huh. Just you and me for Christmas then, I guess.”

_Yeah._ Jono tilted his chin toward the back wall. _Already hung you a stocking, mate._

 

V. 

Jono’d seen so much crazy shit with various iterations of X-teams by now that he found it hard to believe there wasn’t an alternate dimension somewhere that still had Angelo in it. It was an ache that went deeper than anyone else could imagine that it wasn’t _this_ dimension.

Christmas in the mansion was too much to take, with the kids shouting in the halls and making plans for sledding and cocoa and shedding sticky bits of candy cane everywhere and having excitement-fueled power mishaps. It reminded him too much of that first Christmas in Massachusetts, before everything went to hell. Or more hell than it already was to be a mutant back then, anyway.

He brushed off Paige’s invitations to celebrate with her family -- he liked Paige (he _loved_ Paige, still, always), but he was no good for her. Now or probably ever. Eventually he left Xavier’s and wandered out into town, black jacket pulled tight around him and beat-up black beanie with its barely-readable patch pulled low over his ears, even though he never felt the cold.

He passed by the bell-ringers at their red kettles, didn’t glance up at the lights in store windows. He wasn’t part of that -- he never had been. Last-minute shoppers brushed past and didn’t meet his eyes.

Eventually Jono wound up in a dim, smoky bar with a scratchy TV broadcasting one football game or another. It wasn’t Christmas carols, which was good enough for him. He signalled for a piss-poor beer just so the bartender wouldn’t glare, and made his way to a corner booth.

He closed his eyes, and opened his mind, and tried to feel anything but really, really alone.

It was long past midnight by the time he made it back to the mansion, and it was snowing. Christmas morning. All was calm and bright.

 

VI. 

(If only in my dreams.)

 

”Hey! Jono! Wait up, man.”

Jono turned and lifted an eyebrow at Angelo, who looked like something out of a cartoon with a comically-large stack of wrapped gifts in his hands, his fingers extended to wrap around the whole pile and keep the presents in place no matter how many kids clamored around him, trying to carry them off.

_Those for me? You shouldn’t have, Sunshine._

Angelo laughed and shook off a particularly determined effort at climbing his legs by a tiny red-skinned kid whose name Jono could never remember. “Nah, amigo, you ain’t been _that_ good. Give me a hand here?” An extra glob of skin snaked out of his arm to shoo the little devil away as he made a return attempt. “No, James, that ain’t for you either.”

Jono came over and let Angelo hand over half the boxes, shooting the kids an impressive glare that had the lot of them slinking away with a chorus of muttered “Sorry, Mr. Starsmore”s and “Sorry, Mr. Espinosa”s. _Do I dare ask?_ he commented once they were gone.

“Kitty decided all the kids needed a present from Santa,” Angelo said, and twisted his face up into a dramatically pained grimace, though it reverted to unmistakable satisfaction a minute later. “So me and Logan went and got it done. You ever been to a mall on Christmas Eve morning, man?”

_Nope. And neither would you if you had half the sense you were born with._

“Well, _now_ you tell me.” Angelo managed to get one and a half fingers free to open their shared office door. “Think they’ll be safe in here till morning? I could bury ‘em under all those exams you haven’t graded yet, nobody’d ever find ‘em then.”

_Ha bloody ha. Could set Doop on the door._

“Nah, man, I already thought of that, but he’s got a hot date.” They wrinkled their noses in unison. “Yeah, I don’t wanna know either.” 

_Reckon we’ll have to guard ‘em ourselves then._

Angelo grinned, settling the last of his stack on his own mostly-clear desk, and thumped him him on the back. “Protecting Santa’s secret identity? Sounds like a job for the X-Men.” He wrapped his arm around Jono’s shoulders and squeezed. “You know what, I think I got a bottle of mescal lying around the office somewhere. Might pass the time.”

Jono sent him the mental image of the _last_ time Ange had got drunk and shared the feeling with him on Christmas Eve, and Angelo laughed and kissed the side of his head. “Hey, that's never been a bad way to spend Christmas.”


End file.
